The King, the Paladin, and the Ranger
by Penned Peafowl
Summary: The kids of South Park have long since left childhood, but that doesn't mean their old games are through with them. Stan realizes this when he wakes up to find himself in the lands of Zaron. Now he must decide whether to live a life of fantasy or fight to return to his sometimes cruel reality. Based off both the show and Stick of Truth
1. Glass Shard

**The King, the Paladin, and the Ranger**

Glass Shard

"_A sharp broken piece of glass, full of potential."_

The young adult population of South Park was quickly disappearing, and Stan didn't even notice. To be fair, he hadn't left the house in five days. And that last trip had just been to the gas station for a sandwich and a six pack. How was he supposed to know that people—specifically the ones that he'd spent hours each day playing with as a kid—were vanishing? It's not like anyone was talking about it or anything.

Stan slumped up the stairs of his childhood home. He didn't look up at the framed photos along the way, knowing each one by heart. There were the old family ones that'd been on the wall since his sister was in elementary school. Those were the ones that always gave him the hardest stares when he accidentally looked up at them, caught in one of his down states. Even after six years, it was hard to see his mom's face. He couldn't not compare it to the way it looked the last time he saw her in the flesh, sunken cheeks, yellowed skin. Stan had to pause halfway up his ascent to shake himself free of the images. Not looking at the pictures could actually be worse.

The other photos, the ones put up in more recent years, weren't all that bad. They still made him feel kind of funny, but at least he could smile at them too. They all featured Butters' sunny face, some with Stan by his side. Pictures of themselves as awkward teens at prom, the one of Butters holding their first cat (this was Stan's favorite, Butters wearing an oversized mint sweater and a tender smile), and, most recently, their engagement photo. He hadn't wanted to do something as silly as going to the mall to get photographed in celebration of finally proposing, but Butter's eyes got misty just mentioning it. The guy was a sucker for anything resembling a traditional life.

When he reached the second floor, his bare feet shuffled to the room he'd had his entire life. It was overcrowded now. Their queen-sized bed ate up the majority of the floor space, and the closet couldn't contain both the men's clothes without some, mostly Stan's, spilling out. At least it smelled nice though. Butters was a candle addict. He constantly came home a few and shoved them on top of any free surface that he could find. Even when they weren't burning, Stan could still smell them. In the bedroom, they were mostly lilac with a few vanilla ones thrown into the mix. Unruly tufts of yellow hair came to his mind as he crawled under their heavy comforter. With a groan, he settled onto his left side. The digital clock on Butter's makeshift TV dinner tray-turned-nightstand said that it was only four in the afternoon. He had hours left to go.

It wasn't a peaceful sleep, but when was it ever anymore? Stan's consciousness flickered in and out throughout his six hour long nap, if it could even be called that. Everything was silhouetted in the room when he finally willed himself awake. Usually, he'd be able to see lights from downstairs, but that evening it was as dark as the rest of the house. Stan winced as he got to his feet. His whole body felt sore, like he'd been running drills all afternoon instead of lazily moving from one dozing place to the next.

There wasn't any light seeping from under the door to the room that once belonged to his parents. He couldn't remember the last time he crossed paths with their roommate. That wasn't much of a surprise. Craig was sort of a cokehead and could be gone for days at a time.

What was strange to Stan was the fact that Butters wasn't downstairs playing in the kitchen. And he wasn't outside in his puffy pastel coat shoveling out the driveway. Stan flipped up every light switch he passed on his fuzzy mission to find the blonde man. Butters didn't like the dark. When he'd walked through the entire house and still couldn't find him, Stan lowered onto the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight against the dull headache that was with him more often than not. "What the hell, dude?" he muttered to himself. Usually Butters left a message when he was working late or something, but Stan didn't see the inbox light flickering on the landline's base.

He stared at the television to pass time. After about twenty minutes, he decided to turn it on to appear less pathetic. All he could find was news and infomercials. He stopped it on an ad for some British vacuum.

Stan spent the rest of his evening lost inside his head. His body ran on autopilot, only getting up to take a piss once or to grab a fresh can of cheap beer whenever his went empty. He accidentally knocked an empty bottle of Korbel off the counter on one of his trips. He only slightly registered it as the one that he and Butters had polished off the other day to celebrate some anniversary. Stan tried to remember what it was for and how long it'd been, not realizing that he'd stepped on a piece of the shattered green glass. It'd found a home in the bottom of his foot, leaving spots of blood trailing back to the couch. Had it been for their first kiss? That would have made it what, nine or ten years? Stan didn't know. Butters would know. He'd ask him whenever he came home.

It honestly hadn't taken much for Stan to begin his descent into a life filled with up periods and down periods. It actually probably started when he was a child, living with his parents' unhappy marriage. But there was no certain event, no fight or idiot ploy of his father's prominent enough for Stan to mark as his tipping point.

As embarrassing as it was for him to admit, even to himself—no especially to himself—the event that started him down his road of slight alcoholism and social isolation was his best friend moving away when they were twelve. Stan hadn't even talked to Kyle in nearly that many years and he still automatically referred to him as his best friend. Pathetic. He took a large gulp, downing half a can. He couldn't bring himself to reimagine their parting conversation. He hated himself, but not enough for that torture. Not that night at least.

Stan wasn't enough of a loser to allow his life to become utterly wrecked over just the loss of a friend—not even Kyle. That'd simply been the start of him turning to the occasional bottle of beer or shot of whiskey to combat sadness or apathy instead of boredom. No, what really got him going waited a few years later. He was fourteen when his mom came home and sat him down to tell him she had cancer.

She was diagnosed with a late stage colon cancer when she was only forty-one years old. She died before she was forty-three. Stan clenched a fist with the hand that wasn't holding a drink. He hated the doctors that diagnosed her more than anyone else in the world. If he knew who exactly it was, he could totally see himself showing up at their fancy mansion and kicking their ass. His mom had been perfectly fine. And then that jackass tells her she has some pretty bad disease. Her health had deteriorated so quickly… she was an invalid in less than a year. And they just kept on piling the bad news, never giving much hope. It went to her kidneys. It went to her stomach. Her liver.

He'd heard talk of people theorizing that she'd been living sick and just keeping it a secret for years. They never had the balls to suggest this to his face.

His mom wasn't supposed to be the one who died young. If anything, he figured Randy to be the one to kick the bucket. He would have gone down kicking and screaming, demanding all sorts of radical treatments that no insurance would cover. He wouldn't have left with the heartbreaking grace of his mom. She'd taken a mercy dose of lethal medication, perfectly legal in their state. It was okay for her to gather everyone around to watch her sputtering last breaths, but he'd been picked up by the cops when he was found out after dark three nights later, too plastered to even remember his dad's name, let alone his cell phone number.

If he wasn't setting his burning hate towards the nameless faceless doctor or himself, then it was aimed for Randy. The bastard had quit drinking after his mom died. He stopped coming up with ridiculous ideas and he even worked out. Fucking tool. Randy remarried to a lithe little blonde with two young kids when Stan was seventeen.

To be fair, his dad wasn't a complete douche. Although he no longer touched a drop of booze, he wasn't all judgey towards Stan when he sometimes went overboard. And he didn't sell the house or move his new family into it. Instead, he let Stan and Butters rent it. They didn't pay that much, especially with Craig's sporadic rent payments. His dad probably lost money with the mortgage each month. Still, that didn't excuse the fucker for being a shit husband to his mom and then a great guy to some other woman.

* * *

Stan woke up when the midmorning sun poured in through the window and smacked him in the face. Like most days in recent weeks, his first thoughts revolved around feeling like he was going to die. A sour taste coated his mouth and his headache was now pounding louder than a kindergartener given a drum set. Usually this was it, aside from the general aches he seemed to always be feeling lately. But that morning also gifted him a sharp pain in his foot. It radiated up his leg. With a grunt, he pulled his leg onto his lap and investigated the bottom of his foot. The curved nickel-sized piece of glass had remained jammed just below the front pad. He pried it out with a clumsy hand, looking away when two spots of fresh blood mixed with the dark crusting surrounding the double cut. "Gross," he sighed to himself.

As an engaged man, his first instinct should have been to track down his missing partner, to at least make sure he was safe. Stan did not do this. He dully wondered where Butters could be as he got to work cleaning the mess he'd made the previous night. It wasn't until several hours later that he pulled the list of phone numbers off the corkboard in the kitchen. The elegant looping style of Butters' penmanship made him grin the slightest bit.

First he tried the clinic, where Butters worked as a receptionist most mornings. Stan had been furious when he learned that he'd taken his mother's previous job a few years ago. His anger washed away when he came home with a nostalgic scent. Purell and rose air freshener. He braced himself as the phone rang. Every day, Stan hated the idea of interacting with anyone other than the few people who managed to hang onto the edges of his comfort zone, just a little bit more. "Good Morning, Tom's Rhinoplasty, how may I direct your call?" a woman's voice asked with a crack. Definitely not Butters. Even if it had been a man, Stan would have been able to tell immediately. Butters would have been more enthusiastic and asked how his day was going.

"Uh yeah, I was just calling to see if Stotch showed up today?"

"Who?" they asked. Stan imagined they were sneering at him.

"Leopold Stotch." He hated saying that name. Other people could call him that, but whenever Stan said his full name, Butters flinched. The clinic wouldn't allow him to go by his lifelong nickname, stating that it wasn't professional or some bull like that. "He works the reception counter." The lady on the other end of the phone must have been new; it wasn't like there were a whole lot of employees there.

"I think you must have the wrong phone number. Nobody by that name works here."

Annoyed, Stan pushed the button to hang up the phone without saying anything else.

The next place to try was at the chain pet store in the next town over. Butters had been pulling late afternoon and evening shifts there for a year or so. He'd gotten a second job when Stan had proved himself incapable of handling a steady one for more than four or five months. He promised Butters that he would try again at that new Pizza Hut in town, but it still wasn't open yet. Stan was transferred twice before receiving a line about nobody with the name of Butters working at the store. He rubbed the back of his head hard enough to snag out a few hairs. Somebody had to have been playing a sick joke on him.

He really didn't want to resort to this, but Stan found himself digging through the closet in a search to find his winter coat and gloves. He was one arm into the patched coat when he realized that he was in the same checkered pajama pants and baggy shirt he'd been wearing for at least three days. There was no need to give them any more reason to hate him.

Stan ran through a quick shower, rinsing the grease out of his shaggy hair with just a touch of soap. He left the fogged bathroom and walked down the hall in just a towel. Along the way, he dared to knock at Craig's door. No answer.

The longer he took to leave—rubbing his hair dry, finding socks that didn't reek, even shaving his thick stubble—the stronger a panic rising in him began. Finally, he was starting to feel what he knew he should have as soon as he hung up the phone a second time.

Stan elected to walk to his destination, rather than shovel his truck out of the blanket of snow they must have gotten overnight. He sucked in a breath, burning his throat with the cold air and making his eyes water. Butters' tiny yellow sedan was parked at the curb. It was covered in just about as much snow as his truck. Stan approached it, his sneakers quickly becoming soaked as he rounded through the yard. There was a conspicuous clean patch on the windshield. Something sat against the cold wet glass. Stan pulled a soggy white square of paper off. Though the ink was smeared, he could make out that it was a parking ticket issued at the time of half past two in the morning. "What the hell?" He wiped away snow from the driver's side window and pressed his hand and face to the glass, searching for any sign of Butters. There wasn't any, nor were there any shoe prints to indicate where he might have gone after he parked. The flakes that were still floating down must have taken care of that.

Stan set back to his walk, taking a brisk pace. He was breathless by the time he was pounding on the door to Linda and Stephen's house. They weren't answering. He knocked at a constant rate, gaining force. By the time he could finally hear the lock moving from the other side, he thought he might break his hand.

"Yes?" Linda asked, her pinched face staring at him, lips curled down like the leaf of a wilting plant.

"Is Butters here?" He took a shallow gasp for air after pushing his question out. Hadn't he been an athletic kid? What the hell happened to him?

The slender middle-aged woman rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Who is it?" Stephen faintly called from somewhere in the house.

"It's no one," Mrs. Stotch answered her husband. She turned back to Stan. "You really need to keep your antics at home."

"Is he here?"

She sighed. "I feel sorry for you, I really do. What kind of a chance did you ever have with that father of yours?"

Stan growled and punched an open hand against the door frame. "Just answer my question! Do you know where he is?"

Linda jumped back a bit. Her eyes went wide before narrowing again. "Stanley Marsh, I have no clue as to who you are asking about. I suggest you move along now and bother someone else."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, a pleading tone mixing its way into his anger. "Can't you just tell me if you've seen him? I'm getting worried."

She gave him one last hateful look before slamming the door in his face. Stan turned around, but didn't have a clue as to where to go. He slumped against the door, sliding until his ass was sitting in the snowy front stoop.

He was a shitty fiancé. It was his fault that they'd forgone their cellphone plan. After their phones were cutoff due to lack of payment, he hadn't wanted to go out and try for another. Even after their income went back up again, he didn't want that commitment. That monthly financial burden. If he'd been a fucking man and kept a fucking job like everyone else in the world, then Butters would have a stupid fucking phone number that he could call.

* * *

He couldn't feel his legs by the time a squad car showed up, its silent lights appearing particularly aggressive against all whiteness of the snow. Stan had seen the officer a few times down at Skeeter's, but couldn't remember her name. Still, the burly woman treated him alright, even helping him walk with his numb legs to her car. She opened the back door and let him sit sideways in the seat, his feet on the ground. "What're ya doin' here, Marsh?" she asked. She wasn't wearing a brimmed hat, and her carroty hair was in a frizzy bun. He compared it to Kyle's, just as he did every other red head he encountered in life. As always, it didn't even come close.

"I'm just looking for Butters. He never came home, and they wouldn't even tell me if they've seen him." Stan figured if she knew his name, then she'd probably know who Butters was. There weren't many dudes who were into banging other dudes living in the quiet mountain town. At least, not openly.

"Who?" she asked. The question cut him.

He had to take a breath so that he wouldn't shout at the policewoman. "Butters? Their son?"

"Hm." She put her hands on her hips and distinctively looked away from him. "I'm not gonna pretend to know the Stotches well, but I know they've don't got a son. They don't have any kids."

All Stan could do was gape.

"Did ya want me to take ya home? If not, I've gotta bring ya in until ya sober up."

Stan didn't argue with her. His stomach churned queasily on the ride home. He had a feeling that he was being fed into another craziness of South Park.

* * *

People from his town knew better than to speak to outsiders about the events that took place there on a weekly basis. They'd be considered liars at best and locked up for being bat-shit insane at worst. Everyone from South Park knew this rule, and they followed it to the point where they barely mentioned past situations to each other.

At some point though, things began to change. Alien invasions and celebrity sightings became less of an occurrence. The town didn't need to be rebuilt every month or so. As his class grew older, they stopped being charged with insane situations, like internet shortages, Canadian wars, and keeping religious holiday secrets. Their problems became about mundane things like blemishes and having crushes. Stan couldn't think of a single person who was upset over this, and they all let the past be the past. After some years, he began to think that all their crazy hijinks were just their imaginations at work.

But now, he was starting to doubt that.

As soon as he was home, he raced upstairs. His feet began to warm and he was painfully reminded of the cuts in his foot. Stan ignored this though, grabbing the scrap of paper that contained his father's number out of one of his dresser drawers. He got Randy on the line after three failed attempts. His father impatiently told him that he had no idea what he was talking about when he asked about Butters.

The phonebook came out next. It'd been stored on the floor of the closet, at times being under wet boots. This showed in its wrinkled edges. Still, it was mostly readable.

First he called Token's family's house. Both he and Wendy lived there with their daughter, Sierra. The rich family of South Park had graciously taken in the pregnant teen, allowing their granddaughter to be raised with both parents in the same home. They'd yet to be in a place where they could move out. Sometimes Wendy made an effort to get in touch with Stan, usually bringing the pretty little girl with her.

Token's father answered and demanded to know who was calling after he asked if Token was around. Stan said that he was a friend of Wendy's, and was then told that he had a wrong number. He shakily set the phone down on the kitchen table in front of him. He hadn't seemed to know who Token or Wendy were, although he was pretty sure he'd heard Sierra giggling in the background.

Next Stan spoke with Liane Cartman. She sweetly told him that she had no idea who the Eric person he asked for was. Craig's younger sister answered her cell phone, a number that was jotted down in Butter's penned contact list for the house. He breathed a sigh of relief that she was still around. However, all hope from this was dashed when she said she didn't have a brother.

Call after call, Stan didn't receive much else other than confusion. The only person from his graduating class that he had any proof existed was Jimmy. He'd gotten stuck on the phone for forty minutes with him, having to hear about how he was potentially getting a spot on that reality show for comedians. "You know, like that pri-pri prick with cerebral pa… cerebral p-p-p… cerebral—" Stan cut him off before he could finish and went on with his search.

Several times throughout the day, Stan thought about getting in a quick drink. He even thought about lighting one of the no-doubt stale cigarettes he had stashed away in the pocket of his flannel shirt. He dismissed these urges though, feeling too overwhelmed to take any sort of break in his frantic search. He pulled back at his hair after every failed attempt to find someone. It was getting dark out by the time he was defeated enough to call it quits.

Stan went out to Butter's car and watched the sunset from the passenger's seat. He hadn't bothered to move the old thing. He never liked driving Butter's car. Stan was a lot taller and always had to adjust the seat before he was comfortable enough to drive. And, now that Butters was caught up in whatever shit storm was plaguing the town, it felt wrong to do so. He sighed and absently hit his fist against the armrest a few times. When he was eight, this sort of thing would have been way easier. He bit back a mad chuckle. "I guess I'm out of practice," he said to the empty car. Stan proceeded to stare at the falling sun, letting the bright colors burn his eyes and give him an excuse as to why they were starting to get wet.

* * *

An exhilarated shout startled him. "St-Stan!" He jolted off his side. Stiffness in his back accompanied his usual pains. He wiped his fingers at his cheek and found that they came away covered in dusty dirt. Confused, he looked around at his surroundings, his eyes taking in everything even through his daze. He was outside, but it wasn't winter. There wasn't any snow and he wasn't freezing his balls off. Skyscraper-like trees towered over him, their trunks covered in scratchy bark and a giant poof of branches covered in rounded leaves about two-thirds up.

Someone ran toward him, up the dirt path he'd been laying on. He could place their voice, knew it very well, but he couldn't actually picture their face at first. Thoughts swam in the confusion flooding his head. Features of everyone who he still cared for mixed together, conglomerating in an androgynous red fro'ed, kind smiled, person who still hadn't completely lost the baby weight. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to get rid of the monster he'd created.

Just as Stan got to his feet, Butters collided into him without ever having slowed his speed. He didn't mind though. The pain that shot through his tired body was well worth being able to tightly squeeze Butters' thin frame against him. He rubbed his hands all across the blonde's back in a near frenzy. Butters giggled into his chest. "Aw Stan, I knew you'd show up for me, I just knew it! Even when all the other guys said you wouldn't, I just told them to keep quiet." Stan didn't respond, didn't yet ask any questions about what was going on. For the moment, he was alright just holding Butters, knowing that he was real.

Eventually the reunion hug broke. It was Butters who untangled himself and took a step back. He dabbed at his eyes with the backs of his hands. After a moment to settle down, his shaped eyebrows knitted. "What's wrong with your ears? They look funny."

"What?" Stan reached up to his ears, grabbing at what would normally be the tops of them. They didn't stop there, and his fingers followed them another two inches where they felt like they might have ended in a point. He brought his hands away as if he'd touched fire and gave a short shriek that he immediately prayed no one else heard. "What the hell?"

"They're cute," Butters informed him, as though that had been his primary concern.

"Butters, what's going on? Where are we?"

"Well, uh, I don't really know. I woke up here just like you. I went up that way and some real nice people told me that everyone starts on this path, so I came back here to wait for you."

"Did you know who they were?"

His blue eyes flicked away and then returned. "No, I'd never seen them before. They were dressed kinda weird."

"Great," Stan muttered. "Maybe this is some kind of cult thing."

"I don't think so."

Stan sighed. He did not look forward to whatever the fuck was going on. It was one thing when they were kids and had that false sense of belief that everything would work out. Now that he was a cynical twenty-something year old, well, he wasn't sure things would turn out like they always had before. He held out his hand, which Butters took with a squeal. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

**Note: **Thank you for giving this a shot and reading it! It's been awhile since I've tried writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty nervous about this. I welcome all feedback. :) I have the next two chapters written, but they still need editing. Hopefully they'll be up in a few days. Thanks again! :D


	2. Shredded Plastic

Shredded Plastic

"_Not destined to be recycled."_

The path they followed through the forest wasn't all that flat or even, not like the ones they used to run down from school to the pond in winter for skating. It was like it'd been created just by foot traffic. How many pairs of shoes would that even take? The rest of the land surrounding them wasn't particularly grassy, but the ground was nowhere near pressed as hard. These are the kind of things Stan concentrated on as they walked forward, himself always at least one step ahead of Butters. He looked back at the man who was still cupping his hand in both of his. He didn't seem the least bit worried or upset. Butters just appeared to be taking in the scenery, head lazily turning from side to side, mouth slightly open but still curved up at the corners. Stan returned his sight forward and went back to thinking about the path. He noted a particularly narrow spot between two trees as he tried not to notice a stinging in his foot.

Although it was day, the forest was a little dim. Puffy treetops squeezed too close together. A lantern lit structure off to the right of the path was visible from a good distance. Butters confirmed that this is where he'd met the nice people. They approached the small building. It was held off the ground by short stilts. A ramp that wound around the entire square structure looked to be the only way up. Or they could just hop the railing. Stan opted for following the ramp though, taking in the unpainted wood walls as they ascended. The building had been constructed from wide planks and square nails that were monstrous in comparison to the ones he'd seen and sometimes used.

Fire lit lanterns hung from the overhang of the roof that kept the ramp and surrounding patio covered. Stan had to duck under them when they reached the top. He paused before knocking on the only door. There was looped rope where there should have been a doorknob. He couldn't hear anything from inside, and there hadn't been any windows for him to peek through. He would have thought that he would be able to tell if anyone were inside; the entirety of the place was only about as big as two of the bedrooms in his house. Smoke did filter out of what must have been a hole in the roof, so there must've been someone inside.

As he went to knock, the door pulled back and he was left with his fist raised in the air. The stout woman who stood on the other side laughed raucously. He wouldn't have been surprised if she shook the building to the ground. "Is this who you were searching for?" she asked.

"Yes!" Butters answered triumphantly.

She smiled widely, showing off white teeth that looked even brighter when surrounded by her dark face. "Come in, come in. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

Stan was surprised when he saw three other people sitting inside the main room, which must have taken up most of the building. There were two other doors, but they were both closed. A fire burned in a clay-looking pit in the middle of the room. It danced when the woman shut the front door behind them. The three other people all sat close to the fire in chairs that didn't match. One of them looked like a plastic lawn chair that you could find at Wal-Mart any day of the year. All had a drink in hand.

"Ah, so you've found him!" A large man exclaimed. Stan could see what Butters had meant by dressed weird. He looked like he was wearing armor made with steel and chainmail. A large sword sat against the back of his chair, tall enough for the hilt to rest against his shoulder. It should have been too heavy to be of practical use, but Stan had the feeling that the man could wield it just fine.

A woman wearing a cloak said, "We knew there was hope to be found."

"Thieves are not ones to be trusted," another woman replied with a pointed look toward the one whose face was largely covered by the hood of her cloak. "Even if they do hail from Zaron."

"That's enough everyone; you're going to overwhelm the boys." Stan looked back at the woman who opened the door for them as she admonished the three adults in a motherly way. She was dressed normally, in a knit sweater and black slacks. "Go on, take a seat."

"A drow elf?" the bulky man questioned as Stan and Butters came closer to the fire. They sat down together on a short handmade bench that was free. "Never have I heard of a human risking the forest for one of your kind."

"I'd rescue Stan no matter what!" Butters said with confidence. Bile threatened to spew up from Stan's twisted stomach. His head still spun with confusion, but some of the strange terms these people were saying sounded familiar.

"Ah, true love," the woman who distrusted thieves said in a dreamy tone. She pulled out a small harp like instrument from somewhere Stan didn't catch. Her fingers strummed the chords a few times. The resulting noise assaulted his ears. "The finest material for a bard to weave."

The cloaked woman scoffed. "I remember saying that I would burn those hell strings the next time I heard them." The other woman quickly put her instrument away again.

The first woman disappeared for a while behind one of the closed doors. The other three continued their weird bickering. Each bizarre phrasing made Stan's head pound. Butters patted his thigh a few times when he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been hoping to open them and see the interior of Butters' sedan, not the small lodge. "Hey, this kind of reminds me of that game we used to play when we were kids. Remember?" Butters asked him quietly.

It'd been when they were still in grade school. All the boys his age lived in a fantasy land comprised of the tropes they'd learned from movies and video games for most of a year. They'd eventually pulled most of the other kids into it as well. Stan looked at the people again. It was like they came straight out of some shitty RPG game. The oversized weapon, the armor, the clearly defined classes. "Oh god, it is," Stan groaned.

"I had a lot of fun back when I was Butters the Merciful!"

Stan rubbed one of his temples. His hand pressed back and onto his ear, feeling the strange new shape again. A thought suddenly came to him and an annoyance flared up. "I was never an elf!" Sure, he played with Kyle's clan of elves. In his pretend lore, he was really just a human who'd been raised by them though. He'd thought that elves were gay.

"Yeah," Butters frowned. "You didn't wear those pointy ears. Maybe they just didn't know that and assumed you were one."

"Who's they?"

"Well gee Stan, I don't really know. Whoever brought us here I s'pose."

When the stout woman rejoined them, she clasped two round things in her hands. She handed one to each of them before taking a vacant spot at the fire herself. Stan looked at the object in his hand. It looked like a chunky bracelet made of copper. Or just metal colored like copper. Butters was a step ahead of him. He'd already pulled the bracelet open and was closing it on his wrist as Stan looked over at him. A tiny noise came from it once it shut. It sounded like what a drill made for a Barbie would have. Butters attempted to pull it off again and failed. Stan then tried prying it apart from his wrist.

"It won't come loose," the woman said when Stan had yanked Butters arm into his lap in an attempt to get better leverage.

"What is this thing?" Stan shouted, still pulling at it.

"It's okay, Stan. It doesn't hurt or nothing."

The three people in medieval-esque clothing all held an arm up. Each one had a similar device on it. "You can't get out if you don't wear one," the thief explained.

"Legend tells that if one finds the stick, then they can return to their homeland."

"But you can't leave the starter area if you're not wearing one of those." The short woman held up her own wrist to show that it was bare. "If you refuse it, then you'll be stuck forever as a tutorial NPC like me." Stan choked on a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Oh no!" Butters cried out. "Is there some way we can find you one of these neat-o bracelet thingies?"

The woman laughed, causing her chair to scoot back from the fire. Stan put an arm around Butters' shoulder. "Oh no dear, once you assume your role, you're stuck with it. I'm fine though. I got this nice little cottage, and some people are nostalgic enough to come back time to time and pay me a visit."

"Ann is better off than a lot of people. Many have spent years searching for the stick to no avail. They spend their gold on health potions and weaponry only to return broke and empty handed," the thief said. She spared a small smile on the older woman.

"Truly, Ann is who the bards should spin tales about. She is the start of every hero's quest."

The man stood, picking up his great sword with ease and sheathing it at his side. "We should venture before it grows too dark."

"Yes honeys, I suppose you should get going. Take the newbies with you, if you wouldn't mind."

The man looked at them. Butters admired the jewelry stuck to his wrist, while Stan stared his down. He'd put it on his lap and folded his arms, keeping his wrists far from it. "I will escort you north to Havenfort," the warrior said. "From there, I suspect you, drow elf, will find yourself traveling east to Larnion. To the west lies Zaron, where the human may find assistance if the wizard deems him worthy."

Butters asked, "Wizard? Do you mean Eric?"

"That is his name, yes."

"Oh boy!" Butters nudged Stan's arm. "Maybe we'll find the whole gang!"

* * *

It was certainly a lot darker out than it'd been before they entered Ann's lodge. Stan still hadn't put on his bracelet. Light radiated off the ones that were worn by the other four people walking with him. He kept his eye on Butters'. The blonde was enraptured by it, pushing the several buttons along the side of it and observing what they did. He'd discovered that it was like a computer on his wrist. There was a screen on the underside of his wrist with two flat buttons on either side of it. Stan watched as he made a map appear, which was followed by a blank screen. "Look at this!" he exclaimed once Stan looked away. Stan looked back down and saw rows upon rows of tiny pictures. Headshots of people that they knew. Butters pushed a button closer to the screen and found that he could highlight the pictures. "Wonder what this means."

They didn't have much more of a chance to try to figure it out as they were distracted by a chorus of soft sounds coming from far up the path. "We're getting close," the thief turned back to them to explain. Suddenly, her eyes went wide in the blue glow of the screen. "Get back!" she shouted at them.

Stan turned his head just in time to see a mass of fur and fangs running at them. Then the next thing he knew, he was sliding across the ground. He landed on his stomach off the path and in one of the sparse patches of long grass. Butters fell on his ass beside him. They looked back up and saw that the warrior was now where they'd been standing, arm still extended from having pushed them. Four wolf-like creatures pulled to a stop in front of the three people. They were about twice the size of the timber wolves he'd seen at the zoo, backs tall as the large man's chest. The canines' shoulder blades pointed high off their bodies. It gave the illusion of folded wings.

"Excellent! I could use some experience!" the bard joyously called out. She once again had her harp in her hands. Her fingers danced across the strings, but no sound screeched. Instead something Stan could only think to describe as an energy burst forth and surrounded her teammates.

The thief had pulled silver daggers from somewhere. She darted off the path to the side across from him and Butters. She moved fast enough to make it a challenge to track her. She only stopped when she appeared behind one of the wolves and had her blades dug into its body just inside of the extended shoulder blades. The beast whined sharply and fell to its side, freeing her daggers. Stan winced.

As the thief darted away once again, the warrior pulled forth his enormous sword and swung it across the small pack in one fluid movement. It sliced through the necks of two of the canines. One head fell clean off, leaving a trickling stump. The other cried in terror as blood began to gurgle from the wound across the front of its throat. Stan closed his eyes when he saw the thief move towards it.

The rest of the battle ended with a clang and more death whines. Stan didn't dare to look. Butters had scooted close and wrapped his arms around him. "Shh, it's okay. It's all over now."

"That wasn't so bad," the thief commented.

Stan opened his eyes to see the man wiping his gory sword off with a rag that he then tucked into the waist of pants. The warrior said, "Must have been born to a tamed bitch; they hesitated."

The bard flounced towards them, extending both of her hands. Butters let her help him to his feet, but Stan got to his on his own. "See, it's not so bad. It's rather exciting, I think." She stepped past Stan and bent down to retrieve something from the ground. It was his bracelet thing which she then handed to him. "You dropped your bracer. You should really put that on; you won't be allowed to carry a weapon without one."

The warrior was fiddling with his own computerized bracer, while the thief knelt down beside the slaughtered animals. With quick hands, she reached between their bodies and pulled out a small bag. "Two silver, fourteen copper," she stated after pouring its contents into an open palm.

"That's all?" the bard asked. "You aren't attempting to pull wool over our eyes, are you?"

"No, they must have really come from captivity."

The man snorted. "Probably got away from some under leveled rangers."

Stan bent over and retched onto the ground where his bracer had been. The tall grass poked at his face while vomit burned his throat on the way up. Butters rubbed his back when he had trouble getting all of it out.

They didn't talk as they followed the group to the large town filled with obnoxious music and even more obnoxious merchants. Stan felt numb except for his scorched throat and stinging foot. It was getting worse. At one point, he managed to have a flicker of worry over whether or not he'd start to limp.

Butter occasionally oohed and awed over the sights they passed. There were crowds everywhere in the streets. Sometimes someone would break away and clasp hands with one of the three that led the way. Stan noted it was like most other first cities in the few RPG's he'd played. Carts with goods parked along the stone paved streets. Store after store and house after house crammed together. Fires flickering inside illuminated the outdoors. People wandered aimlessly, shouting news into the evening. There seemed to be a different band at every corner, most completely instrumental.

"Look Mom, an elf!" a boy yelled and pointed at him. He tugged at his mother's long skirt. Stan grimaced. His hair had gotten pretty long from not having the energy to trim it, but his damn ears must have been poking through.

"Let's take them to the Lucky Priest," the bard shouted to the other two. "I wouldn't mind spending the night there myself."

The Lucky Priest was the stereotypical combination of tavern and inn. It was spacious inside with two roaring fire places and a bar that extended across the entire back wall. Circular tables were scattered systematically across the wooden floor. Stan saw a set of stairs the led to the second floor, which only came to half the floor space of the bar. Up there, Stan spotted rows of doors. It was set up like the cheap motels his uncle sometimes stayed at during hunting season.

The three left Stan and Butters at the only empty table while they approached the bar. Stan tried to make out a familiar face through the sea of chattering patrons. The people were of all ages wearing ridiculous armor or equally ridiculous street clothing. Dresses had corsets on them and men's sleeves were puffy. The others returned with five lidless pewter steins. "Ale. You need it," the warrior said.

The thief placed something on the table in front of him. It was a silver key that looked suspiciously like his house key. "We managed to get you a room for the night."

Stan took one of the steins and brought it to his mouth with both hands. He didn't return it to the table until it was nearly empty. The alcohol tasted terrible, worse than the cheapest of beers. Still, it made his head a little fuzzy in a good way for the first time that day.

"It does not take long to grow accustomed to this way of life," the thief said. "Some even say they enjoy it."

"I would be one," the warrior said after taking a short swig. "I came into this land an obese programmer who made extra money rolling joints for kids. Now look at me. I tame monstrous wilds for settlements and protect innocents from bloodthirsty beasts."

"Wow!" Butters exclaimed.

"This life is a dream."

"It's a trap," the thief muttered loud enough to be heard. "Don't foolishly place belief into this land. Things happen here that simply shouldn't be."

"Are you on about this again?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes. Physics get tossed out completely when convenient, random designs from our old world creep into this one, and it all—"

The bard cut her off with, "Living here is all about perspective. It can be a nightmare or it can be a happily ever after, just as it was in the old land. What is important is that you find friends to survive alongside. Not many make it long on their own."

"We aren't staying here," Stan said. They would escape just as they always had. He wasn't sure who all these people were, but he knew he had a distinct advantage over them. They hadn't spent their lives in South Park.

"Oh boy Stan, do you really think we can find the stick? I'm already starting to miss our babies."

"That cats will be fine," he assured his fiancé when a look of concern took over his face. "We need to find the fatass. He always has something to do with these things." Stan sighed. He really didn't want to get sucked up into this mess, but it was probably the only way they'd get through it and back to reality. "We'll stay here tonight and go to Zaron tomorrow."

The bard and the warrior laughed, both spraying traces of ale. "Elves can't go to Zaron. You'll be struck down before you can even pull your weapon."

"And you should head towards Larnion. The high king sends recruiters out each day in search of lost drow elves. You should consider yourself lucky; your people are set up very nicely here."

"The high king? Do ya think they mean Kyle?" Butters asked. "I haven't seen him in years."

Stan didn't respond. He didn't know what tone his words would take. All he knew was that he thought of his childhood best friend more than he should have.

"You won't be able to go until you put your bracer on though," the bard said in a singsong tune. "Can't leave Havenfort without one."

Stan looked at the large bracelet in his hand. Without so much as a scowl, he pulled it apart and placed it around his wrist. It snapped back together and he could make out where the screen would be. It didn't light up though. He tapped at the buttons.

"It takes time. It's registering you."

It wasn't long after that that Stan and Butters made their way up to their rented room. It was smaller than their bedroom at home, but the bed was bigger, barely leaving room for the door to open. A single nightstand stood by one side. A lit candle sitting on top of it was the only thing illuminating the windowless room. "Boy, they sure do have something against windows here," Butters commented. He began to pull his dirtied sweater off, revealing his pale thin chest. If he looked hard enough, Stan could find a few yellow curled strands of hair on it. There wasn't much though, which Butters often fretted about. He didn't really grow facial hair either. Stan wasn't a particularly hairy man, but he looked like a bear compared to Butters.

When his eyes trailed down to where his skin turned pink and puckered, Stan had to look away. That scar was his fault. It didn't matter how much Butters pleaded for him to think otherwise.

They both stripped down to their boxers and got under the covers of the bed. They felt dusty and lumpy. Butters scooted close to Stan. He imagined they looked engulfed on that oversized mattress. Stan wanted to kiss Butters. The acidic taste of vomit still coated his tongue though. He opted for placing a chaste peck on the blonde's forehead. Like most of their nights together in bed for the past several months, the thought of sex didn't even cross Stan's mind.

"I'm glad you're here," Butters commented, snuggling his face into his spot on Stan's chest. The top of his head rested against his jaw.

"I wouldn't leave you." He hadn't exactly had a choice, but, if he had, he was pretty sure he'd have chosen to come to this screwed up place and be by Butters' side. He'd done so much for him; he owed it to him. "I was worried when you didn't come home. I tried to find you."

"Did…Did you see my parents?"

Stan paused. "Yeah."

"What did they say?"

"No dude, don't worry about them."

"But I want to know. Did they miss me at all?"

"They didn't know who you were," Stan sighed. "Nobody remembered you. I called around and nobody remembered any of the kids in our class. They must be here then."

Butters didn't respond for over a minute. "Well, I'm happy you remembered me at least," he finally said before pulling away to blow out the candle.

They laid in the dark silent room for what could have only been minutes. Stan somewhat marveled at the fact that the bar had been loud when they left it, but he couldn't hear a trace of it up here. Mostly he just thought about how he could have used another drink. Butters distracted him from these thoughts with, "I really have to pee." Hearing that, his own full bladder made itself known.

"Yeah, let's go find a bathroom or piss outside or whatever they do here."

Butters kept close to Stan as they wandered back down the stairs, clothes hastily pulled back on. He asked the first person who came close enough to him and was pointed toward a door in a front corner, opposite of the entrance. It was unlocked, so they pushed through.

Neither one of the two expected they would find fully modern bathroom. Dull, but indoor plumbing wasn't something to be taken lightly. Stan flipped the seat up on the toilet and heard a familiar clink. It was actually porcelain too. He unzipped and saw Butters did the same. They pissed in silence, except for Butters giggling once when their streams crossed.

Not only was there a toilet in the dingy room, but a sink as well. Stan washed his hands quickly, flicking water off when he was done. Butters, as usual, took his time. He mumbled a song to himself to make sure that he lathered his hands the proper amount of time. Usually, Stan found this endearing. It worried him that night. Butters wasn't a weak man by anyways. No, he was actually a lot better than Stan in most ways. Still, if this world was like any typical video game, then he feared that his fiancé wouldn't fare well.

While Butters dried his hands on a rag that had been lying on the side of the sink, Stan caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. Through the grime he finally saw the ears that were catching him attention. "God," he grimaced. It was worse than he thought. Not only were they long and pointed, but stuck out as well. It was like they were trying to be noticed. "A fucking elf."

"I still think you look cute. At least you don't have those funny eyebrows like in the movies."

Stan pulled at one. He didn't seem to have much feeling in the extended cartilage. "I look like a goat."

"Aw, don't say that. You'll make me sound like some kind of pervert." He gave Stan a quick kiss on the cheek and then opened the door. Butters waited for Stan to walk out first, and then nearly stepped on his heels the entire way back to their room.

* * *

Note: Thank you so much to my first commenter and first follower! :D


	3. Broken Sword Hilt

Broken Sword Hilt

"_Did not end up being attached to an invisible sword."_

The bazaar of Havenfort in the bright morning sun was more intimidating than it'd been in the evening. Every step you took meant pushing past someone, nudging them out of the way. Stan couldn't believe how many people were in the street lined on either side with market stalls. He was having a hard time keeping up with the young woman they were supposed to be following, and it was made harder by having Butters pulling him back by the arm. He felt the need to personally apologize to every person they bumped into. Stan refused to let go of his hand though.

The woman finally burst from the crowd and into a small bubble of open space. Stan tugged Butters into the pocket of breathable room. They were in front of a stand chocked full of different sized wire cages. Most had some type of bird stuffed into them. They looked like hawks, too big for their cages. "This is what we needed?" Stan asked her.

Jessie rolled her dark eyes at him. "No, I was trying to let you two catch up. Nobody wants a trained bird. Fuck birds."

The already downtrodden middle-aged man minding the stall sunk even further into his chair.

"Sorry Rob, but it's true. This isn't fucking Hogwarts."

Early that morning, when Stan and Butters wandered aimlessly into the main room of the tavern, a somewhat familiar looking woman called out to them. She was short and trim, showing off her toned abdomen with a brown shirt that barely came below her small chest. She fit in well with the rest of the strange world, wearing a light teal hood and a low rising skirt that was adorned with straps of leather holding blades and small animal skulls. Long leather gloves went halfway up her arm, one somehow slipped under her computerized bracer. "Always nice to see a familiar face! Sorry to hear that you're stuck in this dump as well!" she had called out to them. She lowered her hood to show off thick dark hair, tied with bands placed every few inches. The mock braid was twisted halfway around her neck.

"Jessie?" Butters chirped. He left Stan's side to go to her. "It's been a real long time!"

"Yeah, my family moved away from South Park in middle school to get away from shit like this. Ha! Guess it caught up to us."

Jessie Rodriguez called them out on still wearing 'starter gear' and offered to help them get on their feet. Stan didn't want to turn down any help they could get, so that led to them chasing after the quick girl in the sea of market goers. In front of the bird stand, she tried to lay out a plan for where they were going. "You need armor first of all. Nobody's going to take you seriously in old world gear." She put her hands on her hips, resting her thumbs out onto her bare stomach. Stan thought he might have seen a budding six pack. "I'm thinking we go up three stalls. Malkinson will always give me the best prices, and he usually has a beast or two for sale. You were a ranger, weren't you Stan?"

His dog Sparky had been the one to fight by his side when they played their pretend game all those years ago. Of course, his dog was long dead. He hadn't had another one since, and every time Butters brought up wanting one, he assuaged this with another cat. He nodded to Jessie.

"Uh gee, it sure is really nice of you to help us out, but you don't need to buy us anything."

"Do you have any coin?"

"No, but we could earn some."

Jessie laughed, but the warmness of it didn't reach her eyes. "You need weapons to get money. Any other way needs coin to start up. Or you could sell your body, I suppose."

The skin of Butters' pasty face paled further.

"We'll pay you back," Stan said.

"Don't worry about it." She shrugged. "My parents and I have been doing alright here. Although, I guess there is one thing you can do to for me." She turned around and ran off into the crowd, skirt flowing behind her, without saying what it was she wanted. Stan's stomach shifted.

Scott Malkinson never grew to be a large man, although he did manage to get rid of his lisp. Mostly. His brown hair looked as though it was already beginning to thin. "More of my fellow South Parkians. It'll be pleasure to help you," he greeted them. Jessie shushed him and fugitively looked about. While nobody else was shopping at his stall, plenty were within earshot. He muttered, "Sorry."

"Don't you dare try to rip me off again, or I'll stop retrieving your insulin," Jessie warned through clenched teeth, bringing her face close to his. Scott actually quivered.

"I'm glad to see you're alright!" Butters said. He pretended to be oblivious to any tenseness in the situation. "I got kinda worried when I stopped seeing you at the pharmacy."

He chuckled but it was strained. "Back home I was close to earning my Pharm D, and now here I am, in charge of an armory again. If you can call this that." He pointed back to his stall, which was tall tent behind the table that stood in front of him. The flaps were closed and there was no other way to see anything he had for sale.

There wasn't any more chitchat. Scott went into his tent. Clangs and clatters sounded from within before he emerged with a familiar blue studded helm. It even had a red feather coming out of the top, although this one looked like it might have actually come off a bird and not from a craft kit. Scott had a cured leather chest piece stiffly sitting on his other arm. It had some sort of leaf like pattern burned into it. He explained that these were sent from Larnion in case Stan should ever show up at his stall. "No charge. The high king paid me to hold onto these."

With a heavy sigh, Stan took the helm and attempted to lower it onto his head. It caught on his ears, but, with the help of Butters, they were able to tuck them inside of it. That was a plus at least. He felt ridiculous in it though. "Yeah, this isn't going to fit," Stan said when he took the chest piece from Scott. It looked as though it was designed for a teenager, or maybe Butters. His chest had filled out too much for him to even try to tug it on. There was also the problem of his forming gut, but he tried to focus on the chest.

"I can take it," Butters said. "I like how it looks." It was sort of pretty, right up Butters' ally. It was shaped like a vest, one half overlapping the other and then held in place with a tie.

"You can't wear that!" Scott exclaimed, spitting a bit.

"It's elven," Jessie said.

"And you're a paladin. You'd do better in cloth."

"I don't mind. It's something until I earn enough to buy something else."

"You wouldn't happen to have something from Zaron back there would you?"

"No."

"Of course not," Jessie sighed. "I guess it can work for now. But if you get caught in that, don't bring up my name."

When they'd finished with Scott's stall, Stan had been outfitted in a long dark coat that went a bit past his knees. He'd dragged his feet with replacing his jeans and shirt, but Jessie had made him at least get the coat. It was kind of nice, almost like the matrix. Only it wasn't that dark and he didn't have sunglasses. And it had pointless embellishments like everything else everyone seemed to be wearing.

Butters donned Stan's vest thing. It elongated his torso nicely and showed off his arms, which Stan had always liked. They were thin, but not like a woman's. He replaced his corduroy pants with a pair of dark green cloth ones that closed with a tie. Sure, there were toilets and running water but not zippers. Typical.

"Come by my house later. I have some pets you might like," Scott offered after they'd already turned around to leave.

Next, the three stopped at an arms booth. Stan came away with an average looking sword that looked like something any teenaged boy would doodle. Jessie helped him fit a sheath through the belt loops on his jeans. She purchased a ridiculous looking weapon for Butters that they called a war hammer. It was made out of dull iron with a simple wooden handle. The size of it was what made it ridiculous. The head was at least two feet long and a foot tall. In the real world, it would be a struggle for either of them to carry it. Wherever they were though allowed Butters to almost effortlessly lift it above his head. Jessie got him a harness that let him carry it on his back and simply lift it off whenever needed. Stan complained about the unlikely scenario that would allow for this to happen. She took Butters' arm with the bracer and pushed a button three times. The hammer appeared on the screen, slowly rotating. "Whatever gets registered to you is easy for you to wield. Stupid as hell I know, but the bigger weapons look pretty cool in combat." She shrugged when Stan just stared at her.

When they had armor enough to blend in and weapons, Jessie suggested that they take a shopping break for lunch. By this, she meant that she wanted them to go to her house with her. It was a long trek that took them pretty much through the entirety of Havenfort. Much to Stan's irritation, there were at least three other bazaars in the large town.

Once the crowds thinned, he played around with his bracer for most of the journey, relying on Butters to keep him on track with Jessie. It was a distraction against the annoyance of having the sword bump against his thigh every time he took a step. At least it would give him an excuse if he was walking sort of strangely. That morning, he thought his foot was fine, but after having walked more than he had in the past month, the cut was making the entire thing burn. It sizzled when the sword bumped.

His bracer was finally lit up and working. Most of the pages he shuffled through were blank. One showed a confusing looking map and another his new sword. He was a little disappointed when he got to his friends page. Butters had had pages upon pages to scroll through filled with smiling faces. Stan apparently only had six friends: Butters, Kyle, Wendy, Token, Kenny, and a kid whose name he couldn't even remember. Ouch.

The homes that were further from the main part of the city looked a lot more like the kind of houses he was accustomed to. They had yards and two stories and windows. Jessie's house was surrounded by a fence made out of logs. It was shaded by the pines surrounding it. "Home sweet home," she said when leading them to the door.

They settled into the corner booth with a dining table set up in the kitchen. A woman wearing a heavy dress entered and offered a tight smile to all of them. "Are you already done for the day, Jessie?" she asked as she walked to the cupboards. She pulled out a tin and scooped some of its contents into an oversized kettle. The kettle was then filled with water from the modern sink and put onto a high rack which stood in the heath that filled the opposite corner of the kitchen.

As her mother used a flint to start a fire, Jessie rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah, I know. The random appliances we do and don't have are a pain in the ass."

"So your mom came with you when you got here?" Butters asked.

"Both of my parents actually. We woke up together in the forest, just like everyone else. I suppose I'm lucky. Most people come alone."

"What's going on here?" Stan asked. It felt wonderful to be sitting. His body screamed at him with more aches than it normally had, but at the same time it felt wrong to be sitting around chatting like nothing was wrong. "Is this all really from that stupid game we used to play?"

"That's what it seems like. Whatever powers we thought we had as kids seemed to have carried over for the most part. I wish I'd been more inventive."

"So can I heal then?" Butters asked. His voice cracked with his sudden excitement.

Jessie shrugged. "Probably."

"What about all these other people? They weren't a part of the game; what do they have to do with anything?"

"I dunno. At first I thought that they might not be real, but they seem to be. They have backstories just like anyone else. Most catch on pretty quick, but don't tell anyone you're from South Park. People think that we have some kind of jump start on them because of the royal jackasses."

"Honey, please don't call them that. We don't need any trouble," Jessie's mom called from her place beside the now burning fire.

"Your old buddies let this whole thing get to their heads. They think just because they got handed some land that they're the rulers of the realm or something. It's bullshit! They make up these stupid laws and have their henchmen go around enforcing them." Stan thought that sounded a lot like Cartman, and, if he pressed himself, he supposed that Kyle's pride could make him capable of running with power too.

Maybe to distract from the fact that he'd once been close to the grand wizard who was no doubt acting as a dictator, Butters said with a tremor in his voice, "You sure do have a nice house! How long have you been here?"

Jessie looked away from them, out towards a window on the wall Stan sat against. "Just about two years now."

"Jessie and her father work very hard to support us. It's because of them that we're so well off."

"Oh yeah. What do you do?"

"I'm a scout. I help people who can't stand against the beasts get from town to town for coin. Dad's a hunter in the forests of Zaron." She began to rub her thumb in the palm of her other hand.

Jessie's mother poured them what turned out to be coffee from the kettle and then put together a large plate of food for them to share. There were pieces of crusty bread, dried venison, and cubes of white cheese. After the food reached them, she disappeared further into the house without another word. "Sorry about her," Jessie commented before popping a chunk of cheese into her mouth. "She's been very conflicted lately. At first she thought this was all a punishment from _el diablo, _but now we're actually doing better than we were back home."

When most of the food was eaten, Butters excused himself to use the bathroom. Jessie escorted him there and then came back. She didn't retake her seat, but leaned against a counter, arms folded and staring at Stan. She didn't sound angry when she asked, "So are you two gay or something?" but Stan still jumped at the question. He wasn't used to people not knowing; South Park was small and word had gotten around about him after that incident in middle school. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Yeah. We're, uh, actually engaged and stuff."

"Interesting." She shrugged. "I guess those bitches were right."

"What?"

"Back when we were kids, all the girls used to talk about Wendy behind her back, saying how she was dating a gay. I always stuck up for you though." Jessie's face reddened and she stood up straight. "Not that there's anything wrong with that! I just really thought you actually liked Wendy. You two were cute."

"I did like her."

She rolled her eyes. "I mean, I thought you liked her how… well you know."

"Oh," Stan looked away and pushed at the helmet on his head. It was heavy and starting to give him a worse headache than he already had. "I think I did."

Butters came back into the room and they both looked to the floor. He didn't seem to sense an awkward conversation had taken place, thanking her for letting him use her restroom. Jessie fell back into her leaning position. "So do you two know what you're going to do? Are you getting a job or are you going to be like the rest of the idiots that run off after that stupid stick?"

"Stan and I are going to find it! And then we'll be able to bring everyone back home to their families and loved ones. And I'll be able to see my kitties again."

That made Jessie smirk. "We have cats here too, you know."

"That's swell, but I don't think anyone could replace Mittens or Snowbell or Tobin. Oh, or Lola. Sorry Lola, I almost forgot you."

Stan idly wondered if Butters had been able to bring his wallet over with him. He had pictures of all four of the grey cats in there. As much as he'd hate to admit it, he was probably going to end up missing the damn things too. They were annoying, especially Tobin who was a yowler, but they'd provided him some good company during his periods of sloth.

"Well, I think you're dumbasses if you go. I'll help you load up on some supplies first though, if you let me get you to Zaron."

Butters' grin spread widely, showing most of his perfect teeth. "We were gonna stop there anyways! There and Larnion to see Kyle!"

"I'm not going near those elf pricks, but I'll take you to Cartman. He'll probably be able to help you more than me." She pulled up her hood for the first time since they'd joined up with her. "Let's go," she commanded as she whipped around toward the door.

"Oh boy, we sure are lucky we met her," Butters chirped. Stan tried to smile back at him, but ultimately failed. The prospect of wandering around the even tempered land on foot wasn't appealing to him. He thought back to his warm bed he'd been close friends with not so long ago. Fucking South Park.


	4. Crumpled Paper

Crumpled Paper

"_You never know when you'll need some crumpled paper."_

Stan supposed he was glad he got the stupid coat. The inside flaps of it were lined with pockets he hadn't noticed at first. Jessie helped him fill them will all the things she purchased for them at the various markets on their way out of town. He rolled his eyes almost every time she showed him something new. Most were stereotypical items he'd seen pixilated a hundred times before. Glass vials filled with red liquid, health potions. Blue ones for what they'd referred to as power points as kids. Here they called it mana, which made Butters giggle. Stan didn't think that the power of farts was going to be carried over into this realm. Jessie also set them up with food that traveled well and some basic necessities like a sewing kit (the plastic case made it look like it came right off a Walgreens' shelf), water canteens, and matches. By the time they were leaving Havenfort, Stan knew he should have been weighed down more than he felt with all the things he was now lugging.

The scenery changed about three miles or so after town. It wasn't a gradual change either. One minute they're walking in a somewhat grassy landscape with just enough trees to be called a forest. The next, the earth beneath their sneakers is bare and there's not a tree in sight. There was a defined line across the ground, one side green and loose and the other compacted and cracked. The new area was more like a desert than anything else, though Stan had never seen one in person and it wasn't particularly sandy. There weren't any trees, but huge boulders instead. Splatters of black spotted the ground. It was as if something had been scorching the world.

A simple wooden bird coop had been raised in the middle of the divide. "Wait here a minute," Jessie ordered while approaching it. Before entering, she stopped at a table set up by the door. There was parchment paper and pens set on it. She got to work scribbling something out quickly, tore it off, and then slipped inside the coop. There was rustling, like the air was taking a major beating. Jessie stepped back out with a black bird. It took both of her hands to hold on to the struggling thing. Stan noticed something attached to its leg, before she released it. Its wings slapped the air as it took off.

"Don't tell me," Stan groaned. "Carrier raven?"

Jessie smirked. "I just had to write to my parents. Zaron is a three or four day journey, depending on your pace." She looked them up and down. "Maybe five days."

"Where are we going to sleep?" Butters asked. He gazed out at the barren that the path led into.

"There is one inn at the midway point. Other than that, well, I hope you like camping."

"Out in the open?" Stan asked.

"Don't worry, I know some safe spots. You two will just have to trust me." She forced out a dry laugh. "C'mon, we're not getting anywhere standing here and picking our asses."

* * *

Six monstrous beasts swooped down at from seemingly nowhere. Stan didn't know how he missed the things; there wasn't a whole lot of anything around to distract him. And they were at least five feet tall, just at about his chin when they landed in a tight group in front of them. Butters squeaked, "W-What are those?" Stan couldn't answer him. They looked like oversized bats, only their heads were wrapped in the scaly skin of a lizard. Their faces were stretched so tight that they ripped open in places, leaving wounds that allowed enflamed muscle to show. At the ends of their wings were single sickle-like claws that shined.

"This is good," Jessie said. She had a dagger in one hand and a short sword in the other. Her eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed as she mumbled something to herself. It looked like she was counting. "We've been calling these vultures. Easy experience. They're eager to come in for an attack but always pause when they land." True, the beasts were huddled together on their short, nearly useless, legs. "I'm going to guess that you guys haven't fought anything yet?"

"No."

Butters reached behind him with one hand and lifted up his hammer. He brought it to his side. His plump bottom lip quivered. "I never did like attacking the giant rats or dire wolves. Sure, beating on other kids was fun and all, but not animals."

"Believe it or not, but they're not just gonna stand there forever. You guys need to go for it! It's you or them." Jessie said before she was suddenly several yards behind them. Stan hadn't seen her move at all. She called, "Just do it! Your weapons are registered, so you should have some instinct on how to use them."

Although he didn't want to, Stan pulled out his sword from its sheath at his side. He couldn't pull it far enough back to leave the sheath entirely, and it ended up slipping and then clattering by his feet. The bat-like beasts were disturbed by the noise. Several hissed. One was mad enough to swing a large hooked claw at him. It moved its wing suspiciously like an arm, but it was still clumsy enough for Stan to dodge.

"Oh no no, no no no!" Butters shouted. His hammer raised over his head and he ran at the beast who attacked. With fluid movement, he brought his weapon down on its head, crushing its skull against the ground. Stan hadn't expected it to burst open like a spoiled tomato. He gagged when bits of bone and squishy matter decorated his shoes. Butters didn't even seem to register the carnage that splattered onto his face. "Leave Stan alone!" He swung at one of the hissing lizard bats, catching a wing and tearing through the tissue. It must have torn open easier than he thought it would, because Butter's war hammer kept going, pulling him along and disturbing his balance. A monster found this to be a perfect opportunity and flung its wing at the stumbling blonde.

"Watch it!" he called out. Without much thought of what he was doing, Stan raised his sword. Gripping it in both hands, he lunged forward. It pierced through the back of the beast with unexpected ease, sorta of popping through its skin. He watched, mouth gaped in horror, as his sword came out through its stomach. At least he was able to stop it before it reached Butters.

Butters regained his footing and smashed down another beast. Stan tried to keep up as his fragile warmhearted fiancé destroyed the remaining bat creatures. He was only able to strike once more. His sword pierced a body too easily. It acted sharper than it really was.

When it was over, there was a mangled pile of fresh corpses topped with indecipherable gore. It was like a pinkish redish pudding with strips of scaly skin and chips of bone. Stan didn't have time to run when he felt his stomach churn in a familiar final way. Vomit spewed out of his mouth and into the pile of dead creatures. The way it splattered with the rest of the bloody mess only made him sicker.

Jessie approached them after his stomach was empty and he was only able to get the occasional thread of saliva out with his heaving. The blonde paladin dropped his hammer and worryingly squeezed his shoulder. His throat made a croaking sound when he tried to tell Butters he was alright.

"Well, you did better than some of the people I've seen. At least you gained some experience," Jessie commented.

"You know, I do feel a lot more experienced," Butters said.

Stan straightened again. He wiped at his mouth, catching some puke on the back of his hand. It was foamy. "What does that even mean?"

Jessie shrugged.

"I don't really know Stan, but you can feel it, can't ya?"

Stan couldn't feel anything except for his gurgling stomach. And the sting in his throat. And the burn of his probably becoming infected foot. Oh, and a new soreness in his arms, most likely from wielding the medieval weaponry. Definitely not any experience or whatever it was they were talking about though.

Jessie rooted around in the carnage for a few moments before pulling out a small bag much like the one the thief had grabbed the day before. She poured some coins out into her hand and counted them. "Nineteen silver, nice," she commented and then dropped some of the currency into Butters' hand. The rest was slipped into a pouch hanging off her skirt. Stan gave her a look and, with a shrug, she said, "What? I'm taking you guys all the way to Kupa Keep free of charge."

* * *

When it began to be too dark to see a good distance up the path, Jessie led them to a particularly large boulder. It leaned to the left with a football sized chunk missing near the top. Jessie walked around to the side that was away from the road, disappearing from sight. Light flickered and the blossomed. Stan and Butters followed her and found that there had been a lantern hammered into the boulder. Jessie smirked. "Told ya I knew places to stay."

The three of them ate tough jerky in silence, save for the sound of the meat being tugged apart and then chewed. They'd fought and killed monsters twice their size, straight out of a nightmare. What could possibly pass for small talk after a day like that?

After she'd had her fill, Jessie stood and said nonchalantly, "I'm going to go find a place to take a shit. Don't you dare look."

"Of course not!" Butters promised. After she'd disappeared into the night, he turned to Stan. "This is some day, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"You looked real neat out there, fighting those monsters. Just like when we were kids!"

Stan scoffed.

"Really! You did!"

"I think you're getting this stuff more than me. I feel like a kid waving cardboard around. You're the one taking care of everything."

Butters looked away, down at the dry ground. He poked at a crack. Even in the poor lighting from the single flame, Stan could have sworn he'd seen his cheeks tinge red. "Ah gee, I dunno about that," he mumbled.

Stan would have further argued his point, but he just didn't feel like talking. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend like none of this was happening.

Jessie returned and ordered that they both had to take first watch while she slept. "No offense, but I don't trust just one of you guys to handle anything that comes this way. Nothing should. The lantern keeps most out, but still." She laid on the hard ground and faced the rock. Basically spooned it. Stan and Butters exchanged a look after her breathing became even after only a few minutes.

"Is she really asleep?" Butters asked.

Stan didn't know, but he nodded.

"So we don't even get a blanket to sleep with?"

He hadn't thought about that. "Guess not." He didn't think he'd have a problem drifting off when it was time; he was exhausted in both body and mind.

Butters and Stan moved to the very edge of the flame's reach, to where they thought that their whispering wouldn't reach Jessie's ears. Stan leaned back onto his hands, facing the sleeping woman. Butters sat on his feet in the opposite direction. His eyes constantly scanned the blackness of the night.

A few hours of nothing happening made them both looser with their watch. After discussing how they would approach Cartman and what they would do from there, they'd run out of topics pertinent to their situation. Instead, Butters rambled about the wedding they'd have when they rescued everyone and South Park was once again normal. "Do you think your dad would walk me down the aisle?" Butters asked, which made Stan laugh.

"Dude, you're not a girl. Why can't you just stand at the altar with me?"

"Well, uh, I don't really know. I just always sorta imagined myself walking up, everyone lookin' at me." He smiled and his eyes glazed for a moment. "Don't worry; I'm not gonna wear a dress or nothing." They shared in the laughter this time, and Stan found himself leaning closer in towards his fiancé when they settled down.

"I'm not sure if my dad would be cool with that or not. Probably not."

Butters opened his mouth, started a syllable, and then closed it again.

"What?" Stan asked.

"It's nothing."

"No, what?"

He chewed at his bottom lip before saying anything. He kept his gaze averted when he finally said, "Sharon was going to do it." Butters smiled, but his mouth trembled. "It was going to be real nice."

Stan straightened at the mention of his mother. He didn't mean to, but he pulled back away, leaving Butters' bubble of personal space. "You… You guys talked about that sort of thing?" Stan hadn't meant for his voice to come out in the mechanical way that it did.

"Sometimes, for fun." Butters said before he got to his feet. He leaned backwards to stretch his back and then pulled at each of his arms. "I'm gonna stretch out my legs, Stan. I'll be right back."

The thought of joining him only vaguely crossed Stan's mind.

* * *

By the time they reached the inn and Stan was finally standing in front of a real bed again, he barely knew what to do with it. The group had been walking for three days, fighting at least a dozen mobs a day, and sleeping on the ground beside various inconspicuous landmarks each night. His body felt it. Stan was starting to finally catch on to what they meant by experience though. Each time he drew his sword he was faster, less shaky. Thoughts of how stupid he must've looked came less frequently. And he was even starting to relearn some of the techniques he'd done as a kid. Except now he was actually doing them and not just playing pretend.

Stan wanted to flop onto the bed. He knew that once he made contact with it, he wouldn't be able to get back out of it again. This wouldn't be a problem, except that he was in desperate need of a bath. If his nose hadn't adjusted, then he would've been dying. He couldn't imagine how terrible they all must have smelled. He wiped the remnants of beasts off himself the best he could, but he still found dried blood time to time. He took off his helm at least and let it drop onto the bed. The mattress barely moved. Still, it'd be heavenly compared to the ground.

The inn was a lot smaller than the one back in town. The room he and Butters paid for was much bigger though. This one had an attached bathroom, complete with porcelain tub. They'd been particularly excited to see that and weren't able to keep dumb grins off their faces. He let Butters have a go at it first, mostly because he could see all the grime and guts stuck to him, which made his stomach churn worse than just feeling it dry on his own bare skin.

Stan thought about returning to the front room of the inn. Maybe he could chat up the keeper manning the battered desk some. He'd expected to see a familiar face when they first pushed through the door. He'd been disappointed when his eyes landed on the elderly stranger.

"Hey Stan," Butters called from behind the closed door of the bathroom. "Can you help me for a minute?" Well, at least that solved his problem of what to do.

Butters was hunched in the middle of the bathtub, water filled as high as it could without spilling over. The water was muddied enough to censor his naked body. "Sup?" Stan asked, closing the door behind him for whatever reason.

"Can you help me with my back? I think some stuff got down my armor?"

Stan crossed to him and gingerly lowered himself onto the side of the tub. Sure enough, Butter's milky back had carmine streaks running down from his neck. He winced as he brought a hand into the disgusting water. He cupped some up, pushing out the mental image of the particles suspended in it. Stan brought the lukewarm water to Butters' back and let it pour down. He did this several more times and then rubbed at his smooth skin with his awkward hands. Butters all but purred as he scrubbed at the crusted substance. Once upon a time, this would have turned him on. He would have scrapped his own clothes and dove in with the blonde. No dirty of water could have hasted his teenaged horniness. Now, however, Butters moans and sighs only made Stan feel guilty. As soon as he cleaned his back, he left the room, closing the door again.

When it was his own turn to bathe, Butters gathered his clothes as he peeled them off. The blonde made no attempt to hide his stares at Stan's body, but didn't say anything. "I'm going to try to wash these some," he explained after Stan was nipple deep in a bath of clear water. "I thought Jessie said something about cleaning her clothes out back."

"Kay," Stan mumbled as he watched his bath grow dark. He would have killed for a shower.

Butters wasn't back when Stan decided he could no longer stand sitting in the tub of filth. He dried himself off and then collapsed naked onto the bed. He buried his face into a lumpy pillow. Feathers pricked his eyelids, but he didn't care. He was asleep in a matter of minutes, never registering when Butters finally joined him.

* * *

They didn't encounter the hell storms of raining fire and lightning until the fifth day of their journey to Zaron. They'd already been walking an hour or so when a flash erupted, momentarily blinding him. One hand instinctively shot to his eyes while the other flailed around until it grabbed onto Butters. His eyes had just began to adjust when a roar erupted from the sky and he watched helplessly as a crackling ball of fire fell towards the ground just yards away from where they stood. When it hit the dry land, it flared before disappearing completely. "Oh fucking great! This, really?" Jessie shouted over a startling crack. She gripped each of their arms roughly and began to run, pulling the two stumbling men behind her. Stan barely caught the terrifying sight of a blob of electricity plunging down at them before it hit the ground and exploded into a burning white glare. It landed where they'd been standing only seconds before.

"What is this?" Butters yelled as they continued their struggle to keep up with the woman.

"Just run!"

Stan was forced to run after Jessie past the point of his lungs burning like the falling fire that chased them. Each deafening boom that marked the creation of a new elemental ball made him suck in a gasp, further paining his chest. Stan was now openly limping, trying desperately to stay with the scout while keeping an eye towards Butters.

They ran until they got to a tree, the first real thriving tree they'd seen since embarking on their journey through the desert landscape. It was huge, trunk thicker an SUV. The roots that stemmed out from it raised higher than his ankle. Once they were under the umbrella of its khaki canopy, they were finally allowed to stop. Stan gracelessly stumbled and dove face first into the ground. His gasping for breath drowned out the noises of the fire and lightening for a few moments. Butters dropped onto his ass beside him, breathing heavy as well.

When he felt less like he was dying, Stan flopped around onto his back. He stared up at the leaves of the tree. Its branches twisted and knotted high above them, bark drier than the land. He could see a flash but it wasn't blinding. It fell far enough away from them to be harmless, as did the fire that followed.

A whacking sound accompanied by enough swearing to make a sailor blush made both the boys look behind them. Jessie was madly slashing at the tree with her short sword, seeming not the feel the vibrations they could see traveling up through her arms. "Motherfucker! You are not pulling this fucking shit on me again!" she screamed. It was the first coherent statement Stan could make out while curls of bark flew. An especially violent swing made the weapon leave her hands and sail a few feet away. Jessie then took to kicking the tree's trunk until her movements slowed. Butters flinched when she turned away from the tree and approached them. She sat behind them, folding her legs Indian style. "Sorry," she grumbled.

"What the hell is this?" Stan asked.

"The fucking grand wizard. All hail the swine!"

"Fatass is doing all this?" he mused. He'd thought maybe that Cartman would have some kind of real magic in this jacked up place. He never believed it could be this powerful though.

"Yes." Jessie scowled. "This is sustained magic. It's like an AoE in a game; he can't really control it other than raining it down over a certain area. Makes him weak to a prolonged fight. Remember that if you ever get the chance to kick his ass." She returned to her feet and retrieved her sword. "Just stay under the tree; this is the safe zone." She did not rejoin them, instead taking a spot on the ground on the other side of the shade.

The sun had traced a third of the way across the sky while they waited under the tree. Jessie still kept away from them. Stan could tell that Butters was growing as restless as he felt by the way the blonde began to tap his knuckles together.

Stan didn't notice that the unnatural storm had let out at first. In fact, he didn't realize it was over until he heard a familiar voice triumphantly called out, "Look what we have here!"

Jessie shot to her feet. "I want my pay!" she screeched at him. Her stance mimicked that of a rapid dog.

"You know the rules: only people who complete a contract get paid. You did not bring the prisoners to the keep, so you don't get paid."

"You fucking cheated!"

"Nuh-uh!"

Stan was just starting to get to his feet when he caught someone moving past him out of the corner of his eye. He blinked in confusion. "Sorry about this," a monotonous voice said from behind him. He never got the chance to fully stand before something heavy crashed into the back of his head. He lost consciousness by the time his body bounced onto the ground.

* * *

**Note: **I don't think I mentioned this, but I've just been naming the chapters after junk items in the game. Makes them easier to find in my document folder, and it's more fun for me than just numbering them.

Also, thanks to anyone reading this. :) I wasn't too thrilled with this chapter, but I'm hoping the next one is where things'll start to get going.


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